


Spine

by nerigby96



Series: Insult to Injury [2]
Category: Martin and Lewis
Genre: Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Intimacy, Love, M/M, Partnership, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerigby96/pseuds/nerigby96
Summary: Minneapolis
Relationships: Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin
Series: Insult to Injury [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565770
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Spine

“Why didn’t you listen to Jer?” That slow smile, the eyes that glitter beneath heavy lids. Dean’s vision blurs, and he feels the hand on his tighten. “Oh,” Jerry says. His other hand comes up to stroke Dean’s cheek. “Oh, bubbe, don’t cry. I’m all right. I’m okay.” Dean’s jaw goes tight. He nods, once. He doesn’t cry. If a tear does slip out, his attentive partner catches it on his thumb before it can fall and doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll stay with you.” Dean nods towards the chair.

Jerry grins sleepily. “I’m glad. But don’t go there. You’ll be so far away. Hey, Doc,” and at this, Dean suddenly remembers that they are not alone. “Doc, can my partner lie in bed with me, or is that not allowed?”

“As long as you don’t move too much, you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you.” Jerry smiles up at him. “Come lie down with me, Dean.”

Dean asks, “You want me to be Dad?”

Jerry nods, eyes drifting closed. Dean thanks the doctor, who lets the door snick shut behind him, leaving them alone in the hospital suite. He switches off the lamp. The moonlight and streetlamps filter silver and orange through the curtains. A large clock ticks on the wall opposite the bed. From outside come the whispers of passing cars. He toes off his shoes and slowly, gently, oh so carefully, lies down next to his skinny, fragile boy, whose eyes flicker, glaze, refocus.

“Paul,” he whispers, lazily twitching his lapel. “Take your jacket off.”

“Jer—”

“I’m not gonna do anything. Honest. You’ll be more comfortable.” Jerry slurs his instructions. Dean slips out of the jacket, tossing it towards the chair; it slides to the floor, crumpled, instantly forgotten as Dean turns back to his partner, who’s still trying to look at him, to stave off sleep, and lazily tugging at his bow tie. Dean helps him, lets the velvet tie fall open and, because he knows it's what the kid wants next, unbuttons the top of his shirt. Dean touches Jerry's brow, his cheek. He wants to check the damage, doesn’t want to move him, hurt him any more than he’s already hurt. That image, his partner vertical above him, hands gripping his knees, grinning madly, then tipping forward, too far, too fast, falling, twisting, the sickening crunch, how his skin went ashen, how the audience flinched, cried out. Dean’s stomach turns, his throat constricts. He closes his eyes, tries to shove that awful thing away.

Then Jerry mumbles, “Here,” and through the dimness Dean sees his groggy hands move to the buttons of his hospital pyjamas.

“Jerry, no.”

“Don’t get excited,” he says, his own legitimate voice coming through the meds. He opens his shirt. “Gimme your hand.”

Dean obliges. Jerry puts it on his bare stomach and whispers, “Check the damage. I’m all intact, I promise. But you can check.”

Dean’s lungs burn. Seconds tick by and he can’t move, just feels the jerky rise and fall of his partner’s belly. Jerry touches his hand. “It’s okay,” he says. And Dean begins to move, stroking up the side of his chest, counting ribs, less prominent now than they once were but still protruding, and then across, pausing to feel his partner’s heart that beats at an alarming speed ( _Am_ I _doing that to him?_ ), then down the other side. Someone has removed the kid's medallion, and Dean feels a strange mix of confusion and anger, but Jerry seems not to care, or not to notice, so Dean keeps going, trailing fingers down his waist. The damage was done to his back, his spine, but Dean can’t get his hand there, doesn’t want him to move, so instead he strokes his hips, eliciting a soft sigh.

“See?” Jerry’s voice is so small, so far away. Dean sees the effort it takes to simply turn his head on the pillow. Silently, Dean refastens his shirt, pulls up the covers.

“Get under with me,” Jerry says. Dean moves with painstaking care to slip between the sheets, and then lays a cautious arm over Jerry’s abdomen. He makes a noise that could be a laugh. “You’re shaking, Paul.”

Dean hides his face.

“Did I scare you?”

Dean nods.

“I’m sorry.” He sniffs. His voice shakes. “I wish the doctor would let me move. I wanna hold you so bad.”

Dean nuzzles his neck, hesitates, kisses the sensitive skin.

Jerry shudders. “Stay with me,” he says, so, so quiet. “Be here when I wake up.”

Dean mumbles his agreement into the pillow.

“Paul?”

“Hm?”

“Was Patti all right?”

“Oh, fine,” Dean says. “She wanted to be here, but there wasn’t room in the ambulance.”

“She gave you her spot?”

“No, I fought her for it. She’s in the next room.”

Laughter bubbles out of him. Then he’s crying out softly, moaning.

“Jerry?”

“Mm.” He shakes his head. “Guess the painkillers ain’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

“My fault,” Dean says. “I’m sorry.”

Jerry holds his hand, squeezes weakly. His eyes close again. His breathing deepens. Dean watches him, and then asks, “Can I stop bein’ Dad?”

Jerry nods. Dean touches his face, leans close to kiss his mouth. It's all right, he thinks, to do it here, in the darkness, with Jerry hurt and Dean himself a little sad and scared. It only lasts a second, but it’s long enough for Dean to feel Jerry’s lips curl against him.

“You like me?” he asks.

Dean shakes his head. “More than that.”

A yawn shudders out of him. “Me, too.” His eyes open just a crack. Dean feels his fingers on his chest. “I wanna… I wanna…” He mumbles, slurs, drifts away into drug-addled sleep. The end of that sentence is lost somewhere in his mouth, but Dean knows.

“Me, too,” he whispers, and lies beside him, sleepless, watchful, until a hint of sunlight peeks through the curtains and he finally lets himself doze.


End file.
